


A Pretty Face But You Do So Carry On

by TearCatcher



Series: Staring Down a Loaded God Complex [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship (Pete/Patrick), Gratuitous mentions of Frank's lip ring, M/M, Oral Sex, Snowballing, Threesome - M/M/M, Warped Tour 2005
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearCatcher/pseuds/TearCatcher
Summary: “Who knows,” Pete continues in his terrible impression of casual, “maybe Frank would be up for having some fun with us while we’re on tour.”Patrick chuckles softly at this. “Whatever, Pete.”(Or - my Warped 2005 Pete/Patrick/Frank threesome fic)





	A Pretty Face But You Do So Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Thank You for the Venom" - because that's the song Patrick played drums on with mcr that one time at Warped! If you'd like a refresher on what everyone looked like during this time period, [check this out](https://coastingon-potential.tumblr.com/post/160501124156/warped-2005-was-the-most-blessed-of-tours)

It’s late at night, and Fall Out Boy’s bus is among a fleet rolling down the quiet interstate on the way to the next stop on Warped. Pete and Patrick have both “gone to bed early”, but everyone else knows that means to keep the volume up on the T.V. and to not go near the bunks for awhile if they can help it. Pete's got Patrick on his back, panting and desperate beneath him. He's kissing him breathless while teasing him by rubbing his hard cock up and down Patrick's side repeatedly, grinding his hip into Patrick's own hard-on as he moves. 

“Pete,” Patrick gasps, “Pete, we don’t have time for this.”

“We have all the time we want,” Pete murmurs calmly, pushing up Patrick’s shirt and kissing his way down his side. Patrick squirms a bit, from both self-consciousness and the ticklish feeling, but Pete’s mouth is making his way in the direction of Patrick’s aching cock, so he’s trying to hang in there.

Pete’s technically right; they’re in the dark cocoon of Pete’s bunk, curtain drawn, where no one can see them, and Patrick’s bunk is the one directly below Pete’s, so they don’t have to worry about a downstairs neighbor deciding he wants to use his bunk. (In general, Pete’s bunk is for fucking and Patrick’s bunk is for sleeping, but sometimes lines get blurred.) However, Patrick can’t help but feel awkward about the fact that everybody on the goddamn bus knows what they’re doing. He’d rather have a quick orgasm now and save the extended fun for when they get more privacy - although on a gigantic tour like Warped, who knows when that will be.

They’d ditched their jeans before they even climbed into the bunk, so now Pete has made his way to the waistband of Patrick’s underwear. He hooks his fingers in it but stops to mouth at Patrick’s dick through the cloth, gently biting at it with his lip-sheathed teeth. Patrick bucks and curses and Pete chuckles. Pete is in the mood to tease, and Patrick knows what a stubborn little shit he can be when he gets like this. 

Pete rubs his cheek up the length of Patrick’s cotton-covered cock, nuzzling when he gets to the head, where Patrick’s underwear is sticky with soaked-through precome. “Mmm, you’re wet for me, aren’t you, baby?” he asks.

Patrick groans, purposely drawing it out because he knows it drives Pete wild. “Fucking suck me already.” Dirty talk is another way to push Pete’s buttons.

Pete is rubbing his face all over Patrick’s crotch now. “I love sucking you off,” he says happily.

“Then fucking do it!” Patrick says through gritted teeth, shoving his hips up and his underwear down.

Pete laughs softly and makes a tsk-tsk noise. “So impatient.” He leaves a trail of soft, teasing kisses around the base of Patrick’s cock.

“I’m gonna just finish myself off,” Patrick warns, although they both know it’s an empty threat.

“I’m turning the light on for that,” Pete says emphatically, but he licks a broad, slow stripe up the bottom side of Patrick’s cock, allowing his lip to catch on the head. Patrick whimpers, his body tense with anticipation of what’s next, but Pete stops and says, with mischief in his voice, “Hey, Patrick, what do you think a lip ring would feel like doing that?”

Patrick freezes. “What?” he asks shakily. He already knows what Pete is getting at - and it’s not that he’s been thinking of getting his lip pierced. One of the best parts of Warped is watching the other incredible bands they’re touring with, and Pete and Patrick have been sidestage for My Chemical Romance every night ever since the tour started a couple weeks ago. And every night, Patrick has been captivated watching Frank Iero. Frank plays with more energy than even Pete, and with more _passion_ than Patrick’s ever witnessed. Tonight they were watching My Chem from stage right, closer to Frank than they had been yet, and Patrick hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of him. When Frank fell to his knees and arched his back, playing in a frenzy all the while, Patrick had swallowed hard and admitted to himself that maybe he had a type, in the form of little energetic musicians with dark hair, tattoos and a fondness for makeup. When Frank came off the stage, his white button-up now translucent from sweat, clinging to his skin to reveal the tattoos underneath, Patrick had barely been able to mutter, “Great show, man,” before moving away so he didn’t blatantly stare. He thought he hasn’t been obvious, but of course Pete has been keeping a closer eye on him than he realizes.

“A lip ring,” Pete says deliberately, repeating the lick from base to tip, this time making the drag of his lip on the head of Patrick’s cock excruciatingly slow. “What do you think that would feel like?”

Suddenly Patrick’s head is flooded with the visual of Frank Iero licking up the length of his cock, his shiny silver lip ring catching on the ridge as he pulls away. Patrick groans and thrusts toward Pete. He wants him to continue this line of speculation but he also doesn't.

“I bet,” Pete says, before pausing to take Patrick entirely in his mouth, going down for a few strokes before continuing, “you’d be able to feel that lip ring the entire time.” He goes down for a few more, and Patrick accidentally jabs Pete in the back of the throat a little. Pete coughs and adds wickedly, “The entire time Frank was sucking you off.” He goes down again.

“Stop,” Patrick says weakly, and gasps in frustration when Pete pulls off.

Pete starts pumping Patrick’s now spit-slick cock with his hand. “You could rub your dick all over his mouth,” he suggests. Patrick drops his head against the wall of the bunk with a thud. He loves to do that to Pete, and Pete knows it. But on a mouth with a lip ring...Frank’s mouth….

Pete swirls his tongue around the head. “You see how Frank is on stage, with his mouth hanging open, like he fucking _needs_ a dick in it.” It's true - Frank closes his eyes and his mouth hangs open, making him look like he’s in ecstasy. It’s far too easy to imagine the faces he makes translating to what he looks like when he’s fucking. 

Patrick is thrusting up into Pete’s hand, eyes squeezed tight, allowing himself to surrender to Pete’s words. When he was watching Frank play, his eyes kept lingering on that mouth, and the way Frank pants and gasps, the shiny silver of the ring serving to enhance the redness of his mouth.

Pete starts sucking Patrick purposefully now, and Patrick is thinking of how Frank looks onstage, with his eyes closed and his mouth forming a perfect O-shape. His mouth would be wet and warm, and the lip ring would be smooth and maybe a little cool, just barely there…

Pete stops and his hand takes over again. Patrick is ready to beg. “Peeeete.” His head thrashes back and forth on the pillow.

“Do you think Frank sucks cock like he plays guitar?” Pete asks conversationally, but there’s an edge to his voice. His hand on Patrick’s dick speeds up. “Do you think he’s fast and throws his whole body into it?” Patrick whimpers and his hips chase Pete’s movements, bucking back and forth wildly. He’s probably making too much noise for bus etiquette but now he’s beyond the point of caring. “Maybe you could come on his mouth, all over his lip ring.”

As soon as he says this, Pete starts sucking him off with a vengeance, going deep and fast. It's a different method than Pete usually uses, like he’s trying to imitate how Frank would do it. Patrick lets out a low, strangled moan, imagining Frank’s pretty face, sweaty and flushed, his mouth red and open as Patrick shoots all over it, leaving come dripping from his lip ring. He’s coming in Pete’s mouth a moment later, and Pete keeps sucking until he’s soft and over-sensitive.

It takes a moment for the fog to clear, but Patrick is a little aggravated, so he flips Pete onto his back and pulls his underwear down to his knees. He covers Pete’s body with his own, spits into his hand and starts jacking him off. “Would you like that?” he asks in a low growl, biting at Pete’s shoulder and making him cry out. He doesn’t even tell him to be quiet. “Would you like watching Frank blow me?”

Now Pete is needy and desperate beneath Patrick. “Oh, fuck, Patrick,” he gasps.

“Would you?” Patrick demands, his hand on Pete’s cock rough and lacking finesse. “You’d like to watch Frank on his knees in front of me, with my dick in his mouth?”

Pete whines when Patrick squeezes him harder, then gasps out, “Fuck yeah, Patrick.”

Patrick speaks low, directly into Pete’s ear, “You’d watch me pull out, jerk off all over his mouth - all over his lip ring?”

Pete moans and his hips stutter, and Patrick feels him come, warm and wet over his hand. Patrick pumps him through it, Pete shuddering when he’s done.

After the scramble for something to wipe the mess on and their respective underwear, they settle down, Pete’s head pillowed on Patrick’s chest. They’re both quiet for a moment, until Patrick says, “Pete? What the fuck was that?”

Pete is running his finger up and down Patrick’s sideburn lazily. “I don't know, just some fantasizing,” he says, sounding thoroughly unconcerned. “It was fun.” He rolls so that he can look in Patrick's direction even though he can’t see him in the dark, his chin poking into Patrick's chest. “Don’t you think it was fun?”

Patrick pauses. “Yeah,” he says honestly. It really was.

“Who knows,” Pete continues in his terrible impression of casual, “maybe Frank would be up for having some fun with us while we’re on tour.”

Patrick chuckles softly at this. “Whatever, Pete.”

“I’m serious,” Pete says. Patrick squirms when Pete grinds his chin into Patrick’s chest to emphasize his point. “You know I kinda like the idea of being watched...”

Patrick snorts. No surprise there. Depending on how much of an exhibitionist Pete is feeling on a particular day, he’d probably be willing to let Patrick fuck him on the Bishop Stage in front of a crowd of screaming fans. “ _Kinda_ , huh?”

Pete's rubbing Patrick's chest in a soothing, idle pattern, and Patrick's fucked out and already exhausted from the long day, so he's very relaxed, despite Pete's somewhat alarming line of dialogue. “And I think it’d be hot to watch you two together,” Pete continues.

“You're a jealous little shit,” Patrick says through a yawn. He's not taking Pete seriously at all, but he's still going to argue with him on principle because that's what they do. “Don't try to act like you're not.”

“It's not cheating if we're both there,” Pete points out. “Frank’s in the business, but he's not someone we're too close to. And he’s hot as fuck. He's the perfect choice.”

“Mmm,” Patrick says noncommittally. His dick twitches as he thinks about the possibility while he's drifting off (designated sleeping bunk be damned), but he knows this is just another one of Pete's grandiose ideas that isn't going to pan out. 

The next day, Patrick’s tapping away on his Mac when a shadow looms over him. He knows by its size and the way it’s slightly fidgeting that it’s Pete, waiting for Patrick to get to a stopping point and give him attention. Pete thinks he’s being patient and considerate, but once someone’s hovering next to him Patrick actually can’t work anymore. Pete deserves credit for trying, however, so Patrick only sighs mentally before removing his headphones and turning. “Yes, Pete?”

Pete has a sunny grin on his face. “Okay, I got the scoop from Mikeyway,” he says, holding his hands out like he’s about to make an exciting revelation. 

Patrick makes a “Go on” face, thinking it’s going to be about the next venue, or a surprise lineup change, or something else tour-related.

Pete pauses dramatically, smirking. “Frank,” he says, dropping the guitarist’s name like it's its own sentence. “Definitely not straight.”

Patrick is horrified. “Pete!” he yells. “You talked to Mikey about that shit?!” He's too embarrassed to even be angry right now. 

Pete adopts his “calming tone” with Patrick. “We can trust Mikey. He won't say a word, I promise.”

Patrick's covering his face with his hands. “ _You_ shouldn't have said a word! We are not - “ he pulls his hands away and glares at Pete, dropping his voice to a hiss “ - having a threesome with Frank!”

Pete is now holding his hands palms out, eyes wide, trying and failing to look like the picture of innocence. “I'm not saying we are,” he says. “I'm just saying I think the possibility is there.”

Patrick is sitting with his eyes closed, breathing deeply, fighting both the urge to yell at Pete to get the fuck out and the visual of being sandwiched between two little naked tattooed emos. 

“Mikey says Frank doesn't like me very much,” Pete continues breezily, “but I don't think that'll end up being an issue.”

Patrick opens his eyes and stares at him. Some things about Pete he doesn't get at all. Sometimes when someone doesn't like him, Pete is crushed and feels like a terrible, unlikable person. Sometimes he takes it as a challenge, like he's going to prove how justified that person is in disliking him by showing them what an asshole he can truly be. When it's Frank Iero, apparently, it's not an obstacle to fucking him.

“Sounds like a great start,” Patrick remarks dryly. 

Pete shrugs, looking genuinely unbothered. “He thinks I'm obnoxious and attention-seeking. Nothing I haven't heard before. And I'm too concerned with my image, if you can believe that coming from a guy who wears red eyeshadow.”

“He just has to get to know you,” Patrick finds himself saying, which is what he always says to reassure Pete when shit like this happens. “It's still early in the tour.”

“Exactly!” Pete beams. “But I've got an extra incentive for him to like me in this instance.” His grin twists into an exaggerated leer. 

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Yep, as soon as you whip out your dick, he'll think you're awesome.”

Pete gives Patrick a meaningful look. “I meant _you_.”

************  
Patrick doesn’t exactly avoid Frank for the next few days, but he takes a break from watching My Chem (“C’mon, Patrick, dontcha want to come watch your boyfriend?” Pete teases in his raspy singsong), and he’s spending even more time on his own bus than usual. He’s sitting in the catering area one evening, having just bid goodbye to the guys from Story of the Year, when the bench next to him shakes with the force of someone plopping down on it. He turns his head into the grinning face of Frank Iero, who should not have caused the bench to shake that much for someone so small. Frank looks like he’s feeling pretty good - his eyes are glazed and there seems to be something alcoholic in the soda can in his hand - but he still appears composed. He’s also really fucking gorgeous up close: smooth, olive skin, sculpted jawline, an intriguing round scar on the bridge of his adorable nose, and eyebrows that perfectly frame his brown eyes, which are lined with black kohl that somehow brings out their greenish hue. Patrick’s eyes are drawn to the shininess of the lip ring jutting out the side of Frank’s mouth, which still looks pretty and lush even when it’s not hanging open.

“Hey, Frank,” Patrick manages, leaning back incrementally because he’s kind of overwhelmed, and not just by Frank’s appearance. How the hell can anyone on Warped smell that good? Frank smells like soap and clean laundry, two alien scents on this godforsaken tour. Patrick is kind of tempted to bury his nose in Frank’s shoulder and inhale deeply.

“Hey, Patrick,” Frank replies, and no one should look that cute smirking.

“What’s up?” Patrick asks suspiciously, but then realization dawns on him and he can feel his face and neck reddening. He’s going to kill Pete for saying anything to Mikey Way, because _of course_ he told his bandmate everything.

Frank glances around, one perfect eyebrow cocked, leans in toward Patrick, and says quietly, “I was talking to Pete earlier, and I just wanted to let you know I’m game if you are.”

Patrick is pretty sure his face is as red as the Coke can in Frank’s hand. Because he can’t crawl into a hole and die, he settles for shutting his eyes tightly and taking a deep breath. “I’m going to _kill_ Pete.’

“What, was he just fucking with me?” Frank asks angrily. “I knew he was an asshole, but - “

“No!” Patrick’s desire to defend Pete trumps all. He glares at Frank. “And he’s not an asshole.”

Frank holds up his hands. “Sorry,” he says, but he looks doubtful of Patrick’s claim of Pete’s non-assholishness. “He said you guys talked about it.”

Patrick supposes this is technically true, and now he’s concerned with making sure Pete doesn’t look like the bad guy here. “Yeah,” he mutters, picking at the pasta on his plate. “I just didn’t expect him to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Frank says, and a long silence follows. Patrick can tell Frank is thinking about what an asshole move that was of Pete (not that Patrick would disagree, honestly). Finally Frank says, “Well, there’s a hotel night coming up in about a week. That’ll give you time to think it over. But I’m down, and I know how to keep a secret - just make sure your loudmouthed boyfriend does, too.” Frank gets up, but Patrick has to know something before he walks away.

“Why do you want to do this?” he asks. “I mean, you obviously don’t like Pete.”

Frank shrugs. “I like _you_ ,” he says with a grin that Patrick can't help but return with a pleased smile of his own. Frank bends down, flirtatiously placing his hand on the back of Patrick’s neck, and speaks directly into his ear, making him shiver. “And I think it would be hot.” 

******  
Patrick's not sure how he ended up living the type of life that involves negotiating a threesome, but ever since he met Pete Wentz his life has taken all kinds of unexpected turns. He, Pete and Frank are sitting on some picnic table tops in the far back of the venue, away from the various afterparties. The sun has finally gone down, but the air is still heavy and sticky, and all of them are covered in post-performance grime. 

“Okay, so ground rules?” Frank asks, taking a deep drag off his cigarette and squinting through the smoke from Pete to Patrick.

“No kissing,” Pete says immediately, and Patrick raises his eyebrows.

“Fuck that,” Frank says flatly. “Kissing is an integral part of fucking.”

Patrick mentally agrees with Frank. Besides, if he doesn’t find out what that lip ring feels like under his mouth and tongue, he’ll feel cheated.

“Kissing is too intimate - “ Pete argues, but Frank cuts him off.

“Fuck that,” he says again. “This isn’t _Pretty Woman_ , and I’m not someone you’re hiring for the night. If you’re too insecure in your relationship to handle Patrick kissing someone else, then you definitely shouldn’t be fucking anyone else.”

Pete looks deeply affronted - because Frank has his objection all figured out - but before he can open his mouth to retort, Frank addresses Patrick. “Patrick, how do you feel about Pete and me kissing?”

Patrick is taken aback. This is not the question he expected Frank to ask him. _That would be so hot_ , he thinks. “Um...I'm fine with it.”

Frank turns to Pete with a smirk. _See?_

At Pete’s betrayed look, Patrick says, “Pete, how is kissing any more intimate than…” Patrick waves his hand, feeling self-conscious.

“Having someone’s dick in your mouth?” Frank supplies.

“Yeah, that,” Patrick says, feeling a low jolt of arousal. Whatever combination of dicks in mouths Patrick can think of in this scenario, it’s amazing.

Pete still doesn't look convinced. Frank gets up and walks over to him, tossing his cigarette aside on the way. “Look, I get where you're coming from,” he says. “But kissing doesn't have to mean anything.” He leans deliberately toward Pete, giving him ample opportunity to stop him. Pete watches him with wide eyes but makes no effort to move away. Satisfied that Pete isn't protesting, he flicks his eyes to Patrick, who gives him a quick nod and moves slightly closer - the better to watch this unfold.

Frank reaches out and cups Pete’s jaw with one tattooed-knuckled, chipped-black-nail-polished hand, tilts his head, then proceeds to kiss him _dirty_ \- no warming up with soft pecks, no easing into it - just immediately open mouthed, Frank’s pink tongue sliding past Pete’s full lips. It takes Pete a second, but soon he’s responding, wrapping his hand around the back of Frank’s head where his hair is shorn short, leaning into the kiss, moving his own mouth like he’s trying to eat Frank’s face. In the end it’s Frank who succeeds in sinking his teeth into Pete’s lower lip, drawing it out as he pulls away. Patrick stares, open-mouthed, watches Pete’s lip spring back into place.

Frank plops back down on the picnic table bench across from them, looking pleased with himself, although Patrick notices the way he squirms as he tries to sit casually. Next to him, Pete is catching his breath, glowering at Frank with dark eyes and unconsciously licking his lips. Patrick can tell Pete’s turned on. God knows Patrick is. And he's a little jealous, but it's not because he just watched Frank kiss the shit out of his boyfriend. He’s jealous he didn't get a turn. 

“I managed to not catch any feelings,” Frank says cooly. “How ‘bout you?”

“You taste like cigarettes,” Pete mutters.

Frank arches one elegant eyebrow. “Next time I’ll chew gum.”

Pete’s looking at Frank like he may lunge and tackle him, to either punch him or start frantically undoing his belt buckle. 

“So,” Patrick says loudly, “what next?”

Pete’s still quietly simmering, so Frank speaks up. “With you two, how does it work - Patrick, you normally fuck Pete?” he asks.

This time, Patrick’s eyebrows about shoot up to his hairline. Frank isn’t mincing words.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Pete asks angrily, and Patrick places a warning hand on his thigh. (Besides, that is totally how it works with them.)

“It’s not supposed to mean shit,” Frank replies, looking at Pete like he’s ridiculous. “I was just wondering what your dynamic is. There’s nothing wrong with it. I like getting fucked, too.”

Patrick thinks of Frank on his back with his legs in the air, like he’s seen him onstage, only without his guitar and no clothes on. _Holy shit._

Pete clears his throat. He’s relaxed a bit, but Patrick keeps his hand tight on his thigh. “You want Patrick to fuck you?” he asks, fighting to keep his voice even. 

“I’m not ruling it out,” Frank says carefully. “I’m not ruling anything out, really, as long as we're all safe and everyone's in agreement. I mean, how often does an opportunity like this present itself?”

Patrick finds himself nodding, and Pete notices. “You’re up for whatever?” he asks him sharply.

Patrick thinks this is incredibly unfair of Pete, considering how he pushed for this. “I don’t know, within reason,” he hedges. “What are you up for, Pete?”

“Wait, is this the Pete Wentz show or what?” Frank asks, sounding annoyed. “Because if it’s all about what Pete wants, I don’t know whether -”

“No,” Pete says quickly. “It’s not just about me.” He turns to Patrick and says quietly, “I’m just surprised, is all, because you weren’t too into this at first.”

“But if we’re going to do this, then we should just…” Patrick doesn’t finish his sentence. He glances at Frank, who is lighting another cigarette and trying to look bored, although he clearly feels awkward. “Look, it’s like you said, we love each other, and this is just something for fun.” He rubs Pete's thigh reassuringly. 

Pete nods and covers Patrick's hand with his own, gives it a squeeze. He turns toward Frank and says, at normal volume, “How about we just see how it plays out?”

“Let things happen naturally,” Patrick agrees, but he’s too embarrassed to look at Frank. How he’s supposed to get naked with him, Patrick doesn’t know, but he’ll cross that gay bridge when he comes to it.

Frank exhales a long plume of smoke, nodding approvingly. “Rad.” He hops up from the picnic table and lets out that cute little giggle of his before saying, “I’ll see you fuckers later,” and bounding off.

Pete rolls his eyes, but Patrick chuckles and says, “Later, Frank,” even though his face is flaming. 

Pete slides down from the picnic table top and gets on the bench between Patrick’s knees. “It _is_ gonna be rad,” he says in a low voice, burying his face in Patrick’s sticky neck. Patrick sighs and tilts his head for better access. “It would be so hot to watch you fuck Frank,” he breathes under his ear.

Patrick tries not to choke on his own tongue. “Or you could,” he gasps out, even though he’s pretty sure he would spontaneously come all over himself if he were to witness such a thing.

“Or maybe,” Pete says thoughtfully, licking Patrick’s pulse. “You could fuck us both.”

Patrick grabs the back of Pete’s head and pulls his mouth on his. Pete still tastes like a cigarette - like Frank - and that makes Patrick moan into his mouth and kiss him deeper. Finally they come to their senses and pull apart, taking off for their bus for quick but inspired orgasms in Pete’s bunk.

*****

“Okay, screen time’s over!” Pete announces cheerfully, and Patrick jerks his head up from his computer, annoyed. 

He slides his headphones down. “Pete, I want to finish this before sound check,” he says. “That’s in a hour.”

Pete saunters up to where Patrick is sitting at the booth next to the bus kitchenette, places his hand on the top of the laptop like he's going to close it, and grins. “I know,” he says. “And we've got the bus all to ourselves until then.” He's looking at Patrick through half-lidded, come-hither eyes, being his ridiculous hot self. 

“Oh,” Patrick says, and suddenly he's not too concerned with completing the bridge to the song he was working on. He looks around the quiet, deserted bus. He'd been so engrossed in what he was doing he hadn't noticed it had emptied. “In that case…” Pete laughs at him while he makes a few keystrokes, saving his progress, before nodding at Pete to shut the screen. Pete doesn't do this too often, but every once in awhile he'll secure the bus just for them, affording them some all-too-rare privacy and space. Patrick doesn't even care that Pete made a stupid sign for the door with notebook paper and purple marker that says, “if this bus is a rockin’…”

Pete pounces on him as soon as he stands, kissing him with enthusiasm. Patrick wasn’t as prepared for this as Pete, but soon he’s kissing back just as eagerly, and the quiet bus is filled with the sounds of their grunts and soft moans. They make their way to the couch, where Pete had thoughtfully laid out a towel ahead of time (one of the stipulations of being allowed to use the bus; plus, that couch was fucking gross and Patrick didn’t want his bare ass touching it). Patrick is going for the button on Pete’s pants, but Pete gets to Patrick’s first, deftly undoing his belt buckle, the button and zipper. He slides his underwear and pants under his ass before guiding him to sit on the couch and lie back, immediately takes him into this mouth. Patrick’s enjoying it, but he’s wondering if they’re going to take full advantage of the time they have, if Pete has the lube with him (because they blow each other in the bunks all the time), when Pete pulls off and remarks, “What would you think if Frank stopped by?”

Patrick blinks at him stupidly. “When?”

Holding onto Patrick’s cock with one hand, Pete pulls his Sidekick out of his pocket with the other and glances at it, grins at Patrick charmingly. “In a few minutes.”

Patrick feels a little blindsided but his dick is _throbbing_ at the prospect. “Um, you planned this?”

“Surprise?” Pete asks, giving Patrick his best-boy smile. “I just thought maybe we’d try out our chemistry, before the big event in the hotel.” He seems to remember he has Patrick’s dick in his hand, leans down and tongues the head. “It’s not too late to tell him never mind.”

“No!” Patrick protests so quickly it surprises them both.

Pete’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I gave him the bus code. I told him to come on in.” He gets back to business, sucking Patrick in a perfunctory way - nothing showy, nothing special, just enough to keep him stimulated, while Patrick tries not to be on edge waiting for Frank to arrive. Pete wasn’t kidding when he said a few minutes, because soon Patrick hears the front door opening, and there’s Frank, shutting the door quickly behind him. He’s wearing an inside-out white t-shirt and a pair of jeans with a tacky pink studded belt. He has what looks like remnants of yesterday’s eye makeup smeared around his eyes, and his hair is either gelled or greasy, styled with the swoop down the middle. He looks like he’s practically vibrating, with nervousness or anticipation or both.

Patrick fights the urge to cover himself, squirming as Pete gives his dick his undivided attention. Pete had barely glanced up at the new arrival before going right back to business. What a little shit to use blowing Patrick as an excuse to avoid awkwardness.

Frank’s view of the couch is partially obstructed from his position at the door, but it’s clear to him what’s going on. He puts his hand up to his mouth in an endearingly awkward gesture and smiles shyly behind it. “Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” Patrick echoes weakly, as if it’s perfectly normal to be exchanging greetings with one’s dick out.

With the same shy smile, Frank walks slowly closer, keeping his eyes on Pete’s bobbing head. “Do you need some help with that?” he asks with a giggle, because he knows how cheesy porn-movie it sounds, but at least he’s trying.

As awkward as this is, Patrick's cock still jumps. “Some help would be great,” Pete rasps, addressing Patrick’s dick more than Frank.

“Sure thing,” Frank says cheerfully, “but hold on.” He kneels on the floor by Patrick’s head, leans down, and gives him a long, deep, lingering kiss, not being nearly as aggressive as he had been with Pete the other night. Frank’s mouth is smaller and softer than Pete’s; he dips his tongue into Patrick’s mouth instead of twisting it in like Pete does; the ring is steadily rubbing against Patrick’s lower lip. True to his word, he tastes like mint, albeit with a tinge of nicotine. Patrick sucks lightly on Frank’s lip, managing to capture _that ring_ between his own lips, wondering how hard is okay. Frank moans softly and pulls away, grins at Patrick. “For future reference, you don’t have to be so gentle with it.”

“Okay,” Patrick says breathlessly, staring at Frank in awe for a beat. He quickly looks down at Pete, who had taken a break in his own activity, sucking and licking just the head of Patrick’s cock so he could watch him kiss Frank. His eyes are dark and intense. “That was hot,” he says in a husky voice. He catches Frank’s eye and starts lavishly teasing the head of Patrick’s cock with his broad, flattened tongue. Patrick bucks his hips and throws his head back. Watching Pete blow him is such a turn-on as it is; watching Pete show off blowing him for Frank is on an entirely different level.

“Scoot over,” Frank says, knee walking over to Pete. Still holding Patrick's cock firmly in his hand, Pete climbs up onto the couch, nudging Patrick's thighs until he positions them so Pete can comfortably kneel between them. Frank is smiling that shy little smile again. “Will you hold that for me?” he asks Pete, and proceeds to take Patrick into his mouth as far as he can. He _is_ fast, but not with the way he moves up and down Patrick’s length; it’s his tongue that is doing some amazing, quick swirly things that Patrick really appreciates. Pete at first just watches intently, but he starts stroking Patrick in time with Frank’s movements, his fist meeting Frank’s mouth every time. Patrick’s muttering and cursing and moaning, clutching the couch cushions and already breaking a sweat even though he’s not doing much beyond rocking his hips. The lip ring isn’t doing much to add to the action but Patrick can tell that it’s there, and that knowledge just serves to make it all that much hotter. Patrick’s wondering how long he can last like this but pretty soon that’s not a problem because Pete announces, “My turn.”

Frank pulls off sideways with a soft, wet pop, cutting his eyes at Pete. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he says.

Pete gives Frank a scoffing look but proceeds pull out every move of his blowjob arsenal - a lot of showy moves for Frank’s benefit, but also doing every little thing he knows that leaves Patrick groaning and trying to rein in the movement of his hips.

“Pete,” Patrick soon gasps, placing his hand on Pete’s head and gently pushing at it. “Pete, you gotta stop - “

“Too much?” Pete asks, wickedly innocent. Patrick gives him a look that lets him know he’s on to his shit.

“Are you good?” Frank asks cautiously after a moment.

“He’s fine,” Pete answers for him, smirking. “He can hold out much longer than that.”

“Good,” Frank says simply, and goes down, proceeding with his swirly tongue move again. It’s so good, just like Pete, but in an entirely different way. Patrick appreciates the contrast, and he tentatively reaches down to touch Frank’s head, just to revel in it. Frank’s skull is smaller than Pete’s, and Patrick’s hand cups it much more thoroughly. His hair is way different than Pete’s - so fine and soft, even where it’s cut short to his scalp. Patrick runs his hand up and down the back of Frank’s head, fascinated at the texture. He searches out Pete’s head with his other hand, feeling Pete’s familiar coarse, slightly brittle hair under his fingers. For a moment he feels like some sort of living god. 

“I want another turn,” Pete says, a petulant note creeping into his voice. Patrick doesn’t think he’s motivated by jealousy; he just doesn’t want someone else having all the fun.

Frank seems to get this impression, too. “Look, why don't you go up there and maybe Patrick can suck you?” he suggests, gesturing in Patrick’s direction. 

Pete looks at Frank pissily. “Patrick,” he informs him, “has to sing later. He can't suck dick right now.”

Patrick is kind of tired of the way Pete keeps interrupting Frank. “Shut up and put your dick in my mouth,” he tells him.

Pete stares at him for a moment with an undecipherable look on his face. “Whatever you say, baby,” he says. Pete stands and starts peeling off his super tight jeans with his underwear inside them. Frank leans to the side, mouthing Patrick’s cock up and down idly, taking in Pete’s hard, dark cock as it springs free. Pete looks good naked, and Frank and Patrick are both eyeing him appreciatively. They watch Pete slide his jeans and underwear all the way down, past his feet until he kicks them away.

Patrick does not expect Pete to clamber up onto the couch and place his knees on either side of Patrick’s head where it's pillowed on the armrest, positioning himself so that his cock his jutting right in Patrick’s face.

“Nice,” Frank says, with true admiration. It’s probably not just for Pete’s limberness, either - Patrick imagines Frank has a great view, perfectly lined up with Pete’s gorgeous ass on display.

Patrick grabs Pete’s cock by the base and shows his admiration with his tongue, warming up by tracing all the way around the ridge of the head before concentrating on the spot right underneath because it never fails to drive Pete crazy. Pete curses and writhes, bracing himself on the top of the couch and resettling. Patrick makes sure Pete is secure and starts sucking him for real, bobbing his head back and forth and settling into an easy rhythm, even in the unfamiliar position. Pete gently rocks his hips in time with Patrick’s movements, letting out breathy little moans.

“Fuck,” Frank swears under his breath, sounding conflicted. Patrick startles when he feels Frank’s mouth sliding down his cock again, and he’s briefly thrown off in his own endeavor. He knows from all the times he and Pete have tried to sixty-nine that it’s not all that easy to give head at the same time as you get it. Patrick either ends up slacking on his effort to blow Pete, or he doesn’t get to appreciate what’s being done to him until after Pete comes. It’s pretty much the same situation here. Patrick is certainly aware that Frank is sucking him off, but right now his attention is focused on doing all the right moves while Pete gently fucks his mouth. He figures Frank can tell he’s kind of checked out when he pulls off of Patrick, but then Pete’s hips stutter and Pete starts chanting, “Oh, god, oh god, oh god,” and Frank asks, amusement in his voice, “Is it okay if I finger you?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Pete breathes, shifting his knees a little to reposition. Patrick decides to help out by moving his free hand to spread Pete’s ass open, resulting in a groan from Pete and a soft, “Yeah,” under Frank’s breath. Whatever Frank is doing, he’s doing a good job, judging by the noises Pete is making and the way his cock starts leaking into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick walks his fingers closer to the center of Pete’s ass, and soon makes contact where two of Frank’s saliva-slick fingers are sliding in and out of Pete. Patrick moans around Pete’s cock, wishing he could see what it looked like.

Pete is pushing back and forth, fucking himself on Frank’s fingers and thrusting into Patrick's mouth. His moans get deeper and drawn out, and he's arching his ass the way he does just before he starts begging to get fucked. Instead Pete groans, “Gonna cooooooome.”

Patrick makes an encouraging sound as Frank urges roughly, “Go on and come.”

Patrick feels Frank’s fingers moving faster, and Pete is shooting into Patrick’s mouth, his moans filling the empty tour bus. Patrick sucks him clean and leaves a little kiss on the head of his dick, and Pete climbs down from the couch with shaking thighs, sitting next to Patrick on the floor and collapsing across his chest. “Fuck, that was good,” he mutters.

Frank takes a moment to look satisfied before turning his attention back to Patrick’s cock. He’s putting his all into it this time, giving Patrick what can best be described as a very _enthusiastic_ blowjob. Patrick is still insanely turned on from Pete's orgasm, and he’s picturing how Frank’s tattooed fingers must have looked working at Pete, so when Pete presses his face against Patrick’s neck and whispers, “Are you gonna come, too? Are you gonna come in Frank’s mouth?” Patrick does just that, trying not to thrust too hard. As soon as he’s done, Frank rushes over to Pete, covering Pete’s mouth with his own. At first Patrick is surprised, but when Frank pulls away, grins at Pete and says, “I figure that belongs to you anyway,” he realizes what just happened. Pete has a smear of white on his lip and a truly shocked expression on his face - something that doesn’t happen too often - and Frank gives him another quick peck on the mouth, looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.

Pete swallows hard and licks his lips, his eyes dark and glittering. “Get the fuck up and take off your pants,” he tells Frank, but his words hold no malice; only desire. He nudges Patrick and they exchange a look before they get up. They both want to repay Frank generously.

Frank has unbuckled his pink studded belt, but soon Pete takes over, kneeling at his feet and undoing the button on his jeans and pulling down his zipper. Patrick kneels right next to Pete and watches as he pulls Frank’s jeans and underwear down together, exposing his thick, dark pink cock, wet at the tip. Patrick understands how a little guy like Frank could be so - well, cocky - when he’s carrying something like that between his legs. He must be painfully hard, because as soon as his dick is unencumbered by underwear and hangs free, he hisses. Pete looks for a moment with a pleased smile and encircles Frank’s cock with his thumb and forefinger, sliding down to pull the skin tight and grip it as close as he can to his balls, making Frank curse. Pete moves close to the head of Frank’s cock, looking sideways at Patrick, placing his lips just next to it without touching. 

“Fuck, come on, fuck,” Frank mutters.

Pete looks at Patrick, says, “Come on, Patrick.” He puckers his lips, and Patrick understands.

Patrick leans over to Pete and places his mouth on his, starting a wet sloppy kiss that Frank’s cock is already poking at. Pete tastes like Patrick and Patrick tastes like Pete, their flavors mingling together. Frank moans and bucks his hips, and soon their kiss includes his cock, their tongues and lips sliding up and over the head before meeting each other.

“Oh, fuck, you guys...fuck!” Frank stumbles a little, and they both look up at him questioningly. “I gotta sit down,” he says breathlessly, “or someone’s gonna get hurt.” They smile at him agreeably and he flops onto the couch after pushing his jeans past his knees.

They start up their obscene kiss again, trying to go further down Frank’s cock this time, but it’s hard to make contact with each other’s mouths once they get past the head because Frank is just too thick. Patrick adds his hand to Pete’s around the base and they lace their fingers, working together to pump it, sliding their thumbs up the underside. Frank is steadily babbling, “fuck” seeming to be the only word he knows. Patrick gets an idea then: he takes away his hand and wraps his mouth around the side of Frank’s cock as far as he can, sliding up and down. Pete catches on quickly and does the same, their lips meeting in the middle. It takes a few beats, but soon they’re sliding up and down in unison (the two of them _are_ technically a rhythm section, after all), while Patrick thumbs the underside of Frank’s cockhead in the way he knows Pete likes but apparently Frank does too. Frank gets his hips going fast and frantic - he doesn’t have to worry about gagging anyone like this - and Pete and Patrick pick up their pace along with him. Soon Frank is letting out a crescendo of “fucks”, thrusting sharply a final time as he lets loose the loudest “fuck” of them all, his cock spurting quick little Franklike bursts as he comes. Pete and Patrick kiss open-mouthed over the head of his cock, trying to catch it all, but everything is a sloppy wet mess of saliva and come: their faces, Patrick’s hand, and Frank’s dick. Patrick licks Frank’s come off his thumb and Pete darts his tongue out to playfully lick some off Patrick’s cheek. They’re grinning at each other like idiots because they both know how awesome that just was.

Frank, however, is collapsed with his head back on the couch, heaving with each breath he’s taking but otherwise more still than Patrick has ever seen him. He watches the birds on Frank’s belly move as he pants.

“You okay there, Frank?” Pete asks him, still grinning at Patrick. They’re both happy they made him feel as good as he made both of them feel.

Frank springs upright suddenly, pure joy on his face. “Fuck!” he exclaims. “You two...fuck!”

Patrick hopes the intelligent, articulate Frank returns after he recovers from his orgasm. “That was a group effort,” he says modestly.

Frank accepts Pete’s t-shirt to wipe himself off and gets to his feet, pulling up his jeans. “I can’t _wait_ until next week!”

Patrick nods in agreement, blushing even though he’s got the taste of Frank’s come in his mouth. Pete, who is struggling to turn his jeans rightside out so he can put them back on, beams at Patrick ike he always does when his ideas are proven to be good ones. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and exclaims, “Shit! We’re late for soundcheck! Everyone wants to know where we are.” Patrick starts swearing and scrambling around but Pete is just laughing. 

Frank also looks amused. “Sorry not sorry,” he says with an impish grin. He goes up to Patrick, easily gives him a smacking kiss on the cheek, but pauses after approaching Pete. He gives him an appraising look before throwing his arms around him in a tighter version of a bro-hug, which Pete looks a little miffed at while reciprocating. Patrick thinks he gets it: Frank is telling Pete he thinks he’s an okay guy; or maybe just that he’s still an asshole but at least he’s a good fuck. Patrick’s not sure how the mind of a guy who will sleep with someone he doesn’t quite like works.

The next day, Frank comes scampering up to Patrick with a mischievous grin on his face. “I don’t know about you,” he says quietly, “but I have some crazy chapped lips today.”

Patrick blushes and smiles, but pulls a chapstick out of his pocket, holding it up. “Tell me about it.”

“Ooh, can I have some?” Frank asks eagerly.

“Sure,” says Patrick, figuring once you’ve swapped spit and semen, chapstick isn’t a big deal at all. He’s about to hand it over but Frank is standing there, lips pursed.

He almost says, “Really?” but thinks better of it and uncaps the lid, tracing Frank’s lips and taking care not to gouge the waxy surface with his lip ring. He’s a little tempted to kiss that mouth when he’s done, but this isn’t the right time or the right place - or the right person, for that matter.

Frank rubs his lips together and smacks them happily. “Thanks so much, dude.” He leans in closer, says in a low but excited voice, ”“Five more days!

Patrick nods and looks around furtively before saying, “I’m looking forward to it, too.”

“Right on,” Frank says before starting to walk away, but he dashes back over and whispers in Patrick’s ear, “Tell Pete I want us both to fuck him.” He pulls away, giggles high and sweet at Patrick’s expression, and he’s off again.

**Author's Note:**

> I blog about Fall Out Boy, Frank Iero and writing on [Tumblr](coastingon-potential.tumblr.com)


End file.
